


Dark Matter

by amorekay



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-20
Updated: 2011-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-23 21:42:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorekay/pseuds/amorekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything smells like smoke, gunpowder or cigarettes, the scent of a battlefield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Matter

**Author's Note:**

> Fic written with 'Dark Matter' from [this beautiful Babe/Roe mix](http://lovejoysongs.livejournal.com/15393.html).

Everything smells like smoke, gunpowder or cigarettes, the scent of a battlefield. It’s the kind of smell that lingers, seeps underneath his fingernails and cakes on with the dried blood, stays heavy and stained in his uniform and rises, unbidden, from the cracks in his lips. Gene is so cold he’s almost stopped shivering, the violent tremors that had wracked his body giving way to unnatural stillness here in the forest.

He shouldn’t be out here by himself, no matter how quiet this lull seems to be, but he never really remembers he’s alone. There are the voices of a hundred boys caught in his head, and a man to touch with soothing fingers while his life drains away at Gene’s knees just around every tree.

Heffron is standing out in the open. Gene’s fingers curl around the cuffs of his jacket as he pauses, and he looks up to the same spot above the treeline that Heffron is gazing at. This entire forest feels unnatural, like something out of a tale, with no birds to grace the sky or deer to make tracks next to the bloody footprints. War has scared away the last of the innocent from here.

“Right now,” Heffron is saying, “I can’t even fucking care, you know? If God’s up there looking out for us, he’s doing a - a shitty job.” The bite in his voice trails off at the last words, and he clears his throat with an audible swallow.

Gene wets his lips. “Hey,” he says, a hand to Heffron’s back, right below the strap of his gun.

Heffron steps back with a crunch of snow and barrels into Gene, arms reaching out and grasping hard. The contact startles a shiver out of Gene’s tired body as he leans closer. Heffron’s weight is heavy against him like a lover’s, but this is less about gratification and more about commiseration. Two people, pressed together on a crowded train about to stall, in an airplane flying aimless over the sea, stuck with their hands only inches apart in the thick of circumstance and emergency. Two men standing out in the snow, cold turning their breath to fog, bodies pressed up against each other inch to inch. The warmth of Heffron’s chest against his restarts the shivers in full force, a violent tremble wracking up the back of his spine.

Heffron’s body starts to shake. Gene pushes them backwards until Heffron’s back presses up against a tree, away from the wind chill and the cruel tendrils of ice it carries. They’re crowded into a little space of warmth, Heffron’s breath hot against his neck and his fingers spread wide at Heffron’s sides. Gene tucks his head down, lips against fabric and he presses a kiss there, the same end to a prayer that his MawMaw would press against the forehead of the frail.

Heffron coughs twice, bodily, and stills. They listen to the quiet of the forest and wait for the next attack to begin.


End file.
